


Vengeance of the Demon

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [27]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is a demon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), sleight of hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Every year, the British Association of Magicians holds a reunion where the bests of all present their last act. Aziraphale is one of the happy few.Crowley doesn't like it at all. Until...Until he doesn't like it even more.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 79
Kudos: 144





	1. Realisation

**Author's Note:**

> February ficlet's #18  
> Today's prompt : "You can't be busy, you're my only friend!"
> 
> I hope you'll like it !  
> Second and last chapter almost done.  
> And I'm not forgetting Anathema and Newt's wedding, don't you worry !

Aziraphale was using his best puppy eyes, and Crowley was very careful not to look at them. He focused on his phone, pretending to play.

“I’m telling you I’m busy. Can’t come.”

“You can’t be busy, you’re my only friend!”

“What in Heaven does _that_ mean?” growled the demon, knowing perfectly this was a trick to make him feel guilty. _Do not look at the angel’s eyes_ , he chided himself. _Not now, or you’re doomed_.

“It means that you have to accompany me, that’s what it means. You _have_ to, Crowley!”

“No way. It’s debasing, I refuse to see that.”

“But my dear, I assure you I worked a lot on it and it is perfectly-”

“Aziraphale, I’d rather eat my own arm than accompany you to that bloody reunion.”

“Really, you are overreac-”

“I’d rather listen to Anathema ramble about the rainforest for three hours that accompany you to that bloody reunion.”

“This is not dull at all, I assu-”

“I’d rather French kiss Gabriel that accompany you to that bloody reunion.”

Aziraphale straightened the lapels of his waistcoat, his face carefully neutral.

“I think you have made your point rather clear,” he declared in an icy voice. “I wish you a good evening, then.”

“I can still drop you by, I don’t mind,” offered the demon, feeling a little bad for hurting his friend’s feelings (but not bad enough to agree to accompany him to his soirée).

“I wouldn’t want to _bother_ you. Obviously you have no interest in supporting me and I wouldn’t force you to take part in it. Far be it from me to sully your car with my filthy magician gear. I will take the _bus_!” declared a haughty Aziraphale.

“Aw, come on, angel, don’t be like that… I just don’t want to watch you making a fool of yourself like you always do, is all.”

This was apparently not the correct thing to say. The bookshop’s door closed firmly. One would even use the word “slammed” and Crowley buried his head in the couch’s cushions. He pushed away a nagging feeling of guilt. The angel would soon forget his disappointment. He would have a blast with his humans _magicians friends._

Ugh. He didn’t know which of these two words were the worst, but both had him wanting to barf. Watching Aziraphale and forty other magicians make fools of themselves all night long as they presented to the others their new tricks? No freaking way. Anyway, the angel didn’t need him. His yearly reunion was always _enchanting_ and _perfectly_ _lovely_. Crowley already had to stop himself from groaning and rolling his eyes at the angel’s excited recounting, no way he would inflict himself the actual sight of it. He wasn’t sure what he would hate the most : seeing his best friend perform his last clumsy magic acts, or laughing and having a good time with his other _friends_ , but he was not stupid enough to inflict both on himself. He may be a demon, but he never had been the masochistic kind.

With a contented sigh, he fell asleep.

He only had slept half an hour when the phone rang. A string of obscenities erupted from the couch, and when the ringing didn’t stop, Crowley emerged from the cushions with such a furious expression that the two plants in a corner of the back room started to shake in terror.

“WHAT?” yelled the demon, picking up the receiver.

Silence stretched for a few seconds. “Aaah… Fell? Is that you?”

Crowley frowned. How many human friend did that stupid angel have? Anyway, it could be about a book, and Aziraphale was already pissed at him. Better play it safe and not hang up directly.

“Nah. He’s out. Wanna leave a message?”

“Oh. So he _is_ coming! We were wondering. He is always here early, and it’s already eight, so...”

“Ah. Magician night,” said Crowley, his voice cold as ice. “Yes he’s coming. He left late, won’t be long.”

“Fantastic! Thank you very much. The evening wouldn’t be the same without him.”

The demon made a face. Bloody human, liking _his_ friend and despairing for his company. Thankfully these ones would be dead in a little less than half a century, but still, they shouldn’t be allowed to befriend him. Why would the angel want to talk about false magic with humans anyway? False magic was so _boring_.

Crowley sighed. Well, he liked to talk about plants with his usual florists, but this was not the same. He wouldn’t go to a bloody yearly reunion to do that. Although a reunion of gardening enthusiast wouldn't be that bad an idea…

The voice on the phone shook him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I see him! Hey everyone, Fell’s here! Time for the show! Thank you, Sir, nice evening to you.”

And they hang up. Crowley looked at the phone and put it slowly back onto the receiver. He replayed the sentence in his head. The tone of it.

_Hey everyone, Fell’s here! Time for the show!_

Crowley had been a demon on earth for six thousand years, and he knew a lot about humans dark sides. The worst, darkest, ugliest thoughts, and the slightly grey ones, that weren’t _that_ bad, but were so much easier to follow, precisely because of that. _Only having fun, no harm done, hey? Come on, we’re only joking!_

The man on the phone… he would have identified that tone anywhere. The false joy. The contempt. The twisted glee. And these little snickers in the background, that only his demonic hearing could have perceived.

They didn’t _like_ Aziraphale. They were _making fun_ of him. They were probably inviting him only for that.

Crowley was the first to tell his angel his magic tricks were the worst that ever had existed, but never had he _laughed_ at him.

He despised wanton cruelty, that tended to annoy him when humans used it on other humans.

But on the angel? Cruelty to _Aziraphale_? Making fun of him behind his back, pretending to be his _friends_?

Crowley wasn’t annoyed. He was _raging mad._ With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a coat and dark glasses.

He remembered the chuckles and little smiles that he hated so much every time the angel talked about his special soirées with his magician friends. The fond anecdotes, the names. _Fuck_ , every one of these bastards was probably blessed for happiness and good fortune every year.

Because they were the angel’s _friends_.

Muttering insults in languages long forgotten, Crowley strode towards the Bentley.

This would be a night these fuckers wouldn’t forget.


	2. Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is subjected to Aziraphale's latest magic act. What will a demon not do for friendship?  
> His concerns about the situation are confirmed. Maybe it is time our demon perform his own show?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It happened again ! I have to add one more chapter.  
> Today is my birthday everyone, and as a treat, I am writing all day!
> 
> February's ficlet #19  
> Prompt : "Teach me how to do that thing you just did"

Crowley always drove like it was the end of the world, and today was no exception. In fact, the Bentley was driving a little faster than usual, which was both concerning and scientifically impossible.

But a sentient vehicle driven by pure demonic energy was not subjected to the laws of physics, and Bentley didn’t intend to follow them tonight.

Her Father was Very Angry, and he explained it at length, between two swearing.

Humans were mean to their angel. This was not to be borne. Bentley wondered how anyone could want to be mean to Aziraphale, but the Bookshop had already recounted to her a lot of things said and done to their angel by _other_ angels so maybe humans acting the same wasn’t that surprising. she was fairly certain they would soon regret it.

They parked in front of a large building, and Crowley entered it swiftly, snapping his fingers at a human asking to see his invitation. The human disappeared.

Well. Father was in a Mood, thought Bentley. She almost pitied the humans inside.

Crowley strode through a corridor, the red haze fogging his mind growing thicker by the second. He could hear laughters behind the doors as he pushed them.

Aziraphale was on stage, and everyone was looking at him with rapt attention and applauding at something he just did. Crowley, who could smell lies as easily as his friend could feel love, knew it was all fake. Oh, they were _entertained_ all right, but the cheering and clapping? Big fat lies.

He felt fangs starting to grow in his mouth, and clenched his fists as his nails slowly turned to claws.

They would all _suffer_.

An angelic tinge of surprise caught his attention, and he stopped looking at the audience to stare at Aziraphale. The angel had an ecstatic expression, and he smiled at him with a delighted wriggle.

Oh, perfect. Bloody fantastic.

The fangs turned back into slightly too sharp teeth, and Crowley answered with a bored nod, and sauntered towards one of the empty seats.

What was he supposed to do now? Slicing everybody’s throats would probably not be taken lightly by Aziraphale. Plus, it wasn’t classy.

How to punish these wankers without hurting the angel’s feelings? Of course telling him the truth would be the easiest path. No more stupid humans to monopolize his friend’s attention (once a year at least) and maybe even no more stupid magic tricks in the future. Win-win, really.

So why couldn’t he just do that?

Well, he knew why. Depressed and sad angel, that’s why. Bloody feelings. He had to be more subtle. Luckily, subtle was his thing. Crowley prided himself on his carefully crafted demonic interventions. He would just have to… avoid using his Hellish powers too obviously, is all.

The demon sprawled on one of the front row’s chairs as a new salve of applause exploded. Oh, Satan… it was the Dove Act. He lowered his glasses to look at Aziraphale, his demeanour clearly stating that he would _not_ revive the bird if the angel killed it inadvertently. Aziraphale rolled his eyes in exasperation.

The dove wasn’t dead, which was a pleasant surprise, but it didn’t fly out of the hat and chose to escape by the false bottom. New salve of applause, and a slightly flustered and disappointed Aziraphale bucked up and smiled widely at his audience.

Oh, _bless_ it all. He really thought they found him good. How could someone so smart be so bloody stupid?

“This is priceless!” declared someone in Crowley’s back, and the demon ground his teeth. The man’s board presentation for the next morning was instantly deleted from his computer, as well as his back ups, and replaced with a documentary on lobster's reproduction.

_Present_ that _to the Japanese delegation, mate._

Aziraphale’s act finally ended, and if Crowley didn’t thanked God for that, it was a close call. The angel joined him a few minutes later as another magician got on stage.

“You came!” he exclaimed as he sat next to him, beaming brightly.

“Your power of observation never cease to amaze me,” grumbled Crowley. Aziraphale answered with a fond smile.

“This is very nice of you to have come, Crowley.”

“M’not _nice_! Was bored, is all.”

“Well, thank you nonetheless” answered the angel with a knowing look. “How did you find it?”

“Atrocious, as expected.”

Aziraphale made a face. “I wouldn’t say _that_. The hat trick was almost perfect.”

“Yep. Almost. that’s the word.”

“You are way too perfectionist, Crowley.”

Crowley looked at him, lowering his glasses and raising an eyebrow.

“ _I’m_ perfectionist?”

Aziraphale pouted and changed the subject. “This is about having fun. Look around. Everyone is having a good time.”

_Oh yes they are._

On stage, the man’s cloak brushed _by pure coincidence_ one of the candles he was using for his trick. The cloak took fire immediately. Aziraphale frowned and turned to his friend with an accusing glare.

“What? I keep telling you candles are dangerous, angel.”

Shouts and running erupted around them.

“Is that your demonic doing?” asked the angel sternly.

“Why would I put a magician on fire?” answered Crowley, raising his voice over the sound of an extinguisher.

“This is exactly the kind of things you would find amusing.”

“Yes, that’s bloody hilarious. But I’d never try to hurt one of your friends.”

Aziraphale blushed slightly, ashamed. “You are right. Sorry, dear boy.”

The demon waved the apology away. “T’s alright. So, who’s next?”

“Oh, that would be the Great Magliostro. You will like him, he only uses white rats in his tricks. They are very well trained. He has a lot of them!”

 _Not any more,_ thought Crowley with a contented smile. A dozen more smart rats for his army. That evening was getting better by the minute.

After two more performances, one interrupted by a sticky deck of cards, the other by one of the missing rats reappearing in the middle of a hypnosis trick and landing on the head of The Mighty Mesmeriser, the interlude kicked in and everyone headed for the buffet, Aziraphale in the lead.

Crowley left the angel to his choux pastries and accosted the Mesmeriser in a loud tone.

“Hey, great trick back there. Can you teach me how to do that thing you just did? With the rat and the toupee? It was fantastic, what’s the secret?”

Sniggers erupted around them. The man glared.

_Not so funny when they’re laughing at you, ain’t it?_

“Do I know you?” asked the hypnotist, squinting.

Crowley smiled affably. “We talked to each other on the phone. You were all worried about your _friend’s_ absence.”

Some of the humans exchanged a slightly unsettled look. The tone and smile of the red haired man in sunglasses was making them nervous. Crowley tilted his head, still smiling, and strengthened his predatory aura a little more.

“Here you are, my dear!” chirped Aziraphale, handing him a glass of wine. “I see you have met everyone already. Everyone, this is my dear friend Anthony. I know you were all eager to meet him!” added the angel with a bright smile.

Other looks were exchanged. Incredulous ones. Apparently, _dear Anthony’s_ existence had been another source of good laughs. Probably some wager too. Crowley’s smile widened, showing his teeth, and two men took a step back. Aziraphale started to chat excitedly as the demon sipped his wine in silence, watching the Great Magliostro as he crawled down the aisle, looking under the chair in search of his rats. He felt like his blood was boiling, and not in a good way.

This was definitely not enough. Time to plan the next step.

Magicians, after all, were certainly in favour of a grand finale, and Crowley hated to disappoint.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will our dear demon invent now?  
> chapter three's title will be "retaliation". Just to give you an idea.  
> Don't mess with the angel, guys.


	3. Retaliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Grand Finale !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February's ficlets #20  
> Prompt : "I could possibly have given this a tad more thought"
> 
> Here it is ! A long chapter for you all my dears !  
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments, I want to hug you all^^  
> I hope you will like this ending ! I liked writing it ;)

“So how do you find the soirée so far, dear boy?” questioned Aziraphale with that too-bright angelic smile he always used when at the peak of happiness.

Crowley groaned inwardly. Alright, it was time to start his own act, the _I want to go home_ one, the _annoying demon on a tantrum_ that was sure to have the angel sigh and tell him to go back to the bookshop without him. He could hide the Bentley in an alley and wait for the angel to head back. The bus ride took half an hour. More than enough to get back in, do what he had to do and drive home to be there before his friend.

He knew the angel wouldn’t stay to chat with his buddies. The buffet and drinks had already been cleaned off. So all of the fuckers would be here, probably having a good laugh, while Aziraphale would be on the bus, dreaming of a warm cup of cocoa with some biscuits.

“Wine was good. Can we go back now?”

“Oh but you cannot be serious, Crowley! We have to stay and support everyone, it would not be polite to simply go. They all encouraged _me,_ ” reminded the angel sternly.

“I’m so boooored, angel. Wanna go home.”

Frowning slightly, Aziraphale looked at his friend closely. “Is anything the matter? Do you feel ill? What is wrong?”

The demon back-pedalled. He may have been a little too good at playing his part.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. M’fine. Just bored.”

Too late, he knew it. Once Aziraphale started to worry, there was no ending it with a wave and a casual assurance. He felt ethereal energy scanning him (patting him down in search of something wrong would be more accurate).

“I’m alright,” he snapped, regretting it immediately.

But the angel was a freaking bloodhound when he felt something was off, and unfortunately Crowley would never be able to put an act convincing enough under that level of scrutinizing. They knew each other way too well, that was the problem.

Aziraphale reached out, took his glasses away and his frown deepened.

“You are not wounded, you cannot be in pain. So I imagine your eyes are like this either because you are scared or angry.”

“I’m never scared!” lied a vexed demon, snatching his glasses from the angel’s hand to put them firmly back in place.

“Why are you angry then?”

“I’m not, let it go,” growled Crowley, crossing his arms and recoiling in his seat, his body tensing against his will. He couldn’t let the angel know. It would be too awful. Unfortunately, that meant he would have to find something else to explain his anger, and knowing Aziraphale, it was only a matter of seconds before his stupid brain provided a stupid-

“Are you mad at me? Did I do something?”

And yes, here it was, that crestfallen expression Crowley hated more than anything, even the 14th century.

_Oh, great. I could possibly have given this a tad more thought._

“You didn’t do anything, Aziraphale. I’m not mad at you,” he assured.

His friend nodded and relaxed visibly, redirecting his attention on the stage, where a middle-aged man was painstakingly trying to saw a woman in half. Poor girl seemed bored to death. Crowley rose an eyebrow, and the saw snapped in half. The magician let out a whimper and stuck his finger in his mouth. With the warm satisfaction of a job well done, the demon focused on his friend again.

Even if the angel seemed to have forgotten their conversation, he was probably racking his brain right now to find a reason for Crowley’s anger. And he was way too smart to be left unsupervised. There was a slight chance for him to deduct the right explanation (or a lot of wrong, even worse ones).

_Think of something plausible… what could possibly make me angry?_

“I was thinking of Gabriel.”

Aziraphale blinked, and took a second before turning back to face him.

“What? Why?”

Crowley shrugged and waved at the bleeding apprentice woodcutter. “This guy looks a little like him. Anyway, was thinking of him. Five years of punishment aren’t enough. It’s like a slap on the hand, I don’t like that. She should have make them Fall.”

The angel gasped. “Crowley, you don’t mean that!”

“Course I do!” and it was true. Being angry at God was so natural he didn’t even have to fake it.

“Well… you shouldn’t. It would have been a terrible idea. Three more Archangels in Hell? I don’t even want to think about it. They would make powerful demons, Crowley. It could be enough to… tip the scales.”

Wow. That was both the best misdirection Crowley ever performed and the scariest one. Now he was _thinking_ about it. But on the bright side, Aziraphale had taken the bait and wasn’t worrying anymore.

“You’re right, angel. Better that way. Shame it’s not for one or two centuries though.”

And Aziraphale smiled, his eyes on the stage again.

 _Victory_. Now, how could he find a good excuse to get out first and…

“You do not have to stay, you know?” said Aziraphale matter-of-factly.

“Whot?” asked a confused demon.

“It was very… considerate of you to come and watch my act. I know you do not care for all this, so… if you want to go home, I would perfectly understand, my dear.”

_What in Heaven? What? That easily?_

“Er… o… okay? I’ll just… go then?”

“Mind how you go, dear,” chuckled the angel, patting his hand.

“Right. See you later. Er… I’ll open some wine, okay?”

“That is an excellent idea.”

Perfect. He had played that one like a true virtuoso. He aimed for the doors, his walk nonchalant and perfectly cool, catching everybody’s eyes on his way out. Most of the stares were jealous (what magician wouldn’t dream to have such presence?), the other ones were angry (the happy few he’d made fun of during intermission) and had it not be about avenging his angel, he would have called it a job well done.

Instead, he sat at the Bentley’s wheel, hid them both out of view, and waited for Aziraphale to depart.

It may have been two hours when the familiar presence started to move. He followed it by thought until he was sure the angel was aiming for the bus stop, saved his progression at plants vs zombies and pocketed his phone.

“Wait here, baby. Won’t be long,” he murmured to his car before slithering into the building.

* * *

One day, Aziraphale had asked about his snake form. It was in Egypt, during an awfully hot day, and the demon had turned into a serpent to bathe in the sun, more at ease in this corporation.

“You are awfully small,” declared the angel with surprise, and the phrasing made Crowley snigger.

“You shouldn’t say that to a bloke. Blow to morale, that kind of talking.”

“Oh, really? I am dreadfully sorry. I meant that you were bigger in Eden. Did you… lose some of your powers since? Or can you chose the form you want to take?”

“Oy! Losing powers? Course not, who do you think I am? I can chose my snake form,” answered an incensed demon, turning into an oversized anaconda to make his point and hissing loudly in the angel’s face, fangs bared.

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, how _lovely_!” and Crowley knew at this instant that something was wrong. If he couldn’t even trigger the slightest answer of fear or wariness after such a show, then Aziraphale didn’t see him as an enemy any more. Which was… both very frightening and awfully warming.

* * *

  
  


Anyway, he hadn’t tried to assume a big snake’s form since, mostly because it wasn’t very useful. No point in turning into a thirty feet long boa when you could simply coil around an angelic neck and be petted for hours with nothing but the sound of turning pages to disturb your sleep.

It didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to do it, though. And it was high time to test just how big a snake he could turn into.

Pretty big, it turned out. He was fairly certain King Kong wouldn’t have stand a chance.

Once the shrieking had stopped (fainting tended to do that) he took the time to pick some (all of them) pockets before snapping his fingers to dispatch his cargo where it could be put to better use, like quitting this job as “sexy assistant about to be cut in half” and start your own magic show like you’ve always dreamt of doing.

She would go far, that one. Cunning mind. And the small waiter would be able to attend uni this year instead of next one. It wasn’t exactly evil, but picking pockets was, after all, so it was still demonic activity.

Pleased with himself, Crowley whistled “we are the champions” all the way back to his car, where an angel waited patiently, leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed.

 _Fuck_.

“That was not very nice,” declared Aziraphale in an icy voice.

“Ngk,” was the demon’s smart answer.

“I knew they didn’t like me very much, but I thought that they _enjoyed_ my magic tricks.”

Crowley’s brain, who had started running wildly to find a way out of this mess, screeched to a halt.

“Whot? How… how do you know?”

“Your car told me. Don’t be mad at her, I didn’t leave her a choice. I was very stern.”

Bentley tried to appear sorry. She was not.

Stupid car probably blabbered it all as soon as the angel asked her if anything was wrong. She couldn’t refuse a thing to Aziraphale. It was disgusting.

“Er… are you… mad at me or something?” asked the demon carefully.

“Mad? At you? Why would I? You never told me my tricks were good, did you? At least _you_ were honest with me.”

Oh, he _was_ mad all right.

“I didn’t want you to find out, angel.”

“I know, and that was very considerate of you. But I’d rather know. I thought I was invited because my craft was considered good. Apparently I was wrong.”

Crowley blinked, taking in the pressed lips, haughty demeanour and offended expression.

“So you’re not sad? They were… well, you thought they were your friends.”

“Friends? Oh, right. No, dear boy. I can feel love, remember? I know they didn't like me that much. I only come here to perform, watch the show and hear the latest news of the milieu.”

“But…” spluttered the demon, taking his seat with a slight frown. “But you always tell me how _delightful_ it is to see them all.”

Aziraphale blushed slightly. “Well… I… I imagine I wanted you to think I was popular. You always say my tricks are ridiculous, after all.”

_Oh, bless it all!_

“They’re not ridiculous, exactly… errr… maybe… not rehearsed enough? You could… well you could work on them once a week, and I’ll tell you what’s wrong. If you want.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, that is very sweet of you, Crowley. But I am opposed to torture, as you perfectly know, and I would never submit you to this. I do not intend to come back here anyway. The Them love my magic tricks, and I’d rather keep them as my exclusive audience.”

Crowley finally relaxed, understanding that his friend’s feelings hadn’t been hurt very much if he was able to joke about it. They drove in silence for a few minute, the angel looking out the window with a faraway air, and Crowley searching for something nice to say about his friend’s sleight of hands abilities.

He didn’t come with anything.

“You sure you don’t want to come back? They will invite you, I made sure of it. We could go together and make fun of them, for a change.”

“Oh, that would not be very nice, my dear,” answered the angel, still looking out the window.

He chuckled suddenly before turning to the demon with a mischievous smile. “It would probably be boring anyway. I do not think anyone could beat _your_ performance tonight.”

  
  



End file.
